Just Breathe
by Your Iron Lung
Summary: The scar Shinjiro has across his torso hurts sometimes. He wears it as a trophy, though, and as a constant reminder in her memory. His scar ensures that he'll never forget again, even though he had once before.


He admits that some things still aren't quite right in regards to the incident that landed him comatose for the longest while, but he's struggled to make the most of it. The bullet wound entry point had scared over nicely, leaving him a nice little reminder of what had had happened, and how he'd made his supposed final stand. He wore it like a trophy, even though it pained him at times.

Of course it hurts physically when he perhaps takes a breath too deep, or laughs too hard; but that's ok, he can't say he really minds. It's not like he laughs that much anyway. It's a strong reminder that he's still alive, even though she has passed on. At least he hadn't died when he thought he ought to, for it had allowed him the opportunity for him to be there for her as she lay dying on the school roof. He may have forgotten all the events that had transpired, but he had remembered them in time to clutch her close in her final moments as she slept herself away into blissful oblivion, even as he told her how sorry he was for forgetting, and that his feelings for her had always been there, even if he hadn't known who they were for.

Shinjiro would never forget again; his scar would make certain of that.

* * *

He doesn't wear that silly baseball cap anymore; he's fairly certain that despite how close he shaves his head, it's causing him to start a small bald patch. It's not that he minds a little hair loss, but he'd like to prevent it before it becomes something that would detract from his looks, which he needed to woo the ladies.

Even though he was a renowned womanizer, he always had one predetermined type he hit on. Brown hair, tied back, with bright, wide, speculative eyes to be accented with the smallest, most modest, of smiles. They all reminded him of the girl who'd gotten away; the single, greatest regret he ever had. The girl he'd loved who'd chosen that deadbeat punk over him.

Junpei doubted he'd ever get over it; the hurt was just so great. Sometimes he caught himself dreaming, dreaming that she'd let him hold her as her body slowly shut down, instead of that stupid renegade. He'd have stroked her hair, held her close, and whispered how brave she'd been to take on that great catastrophe all on her own.

She was dead now, of course, but there was no real way he could figure out how to move on.

* * *

Akihiko Sanda is not a household name, though many may have expected him to have become one. He could've been a famous boxer, if he'd wanted, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see his opponents as anything other than those demons he and his friends had sacrificed so much to defeat.

He'd used his fists to fight the shadows, but he couldn't bring himself to use them against the people they'd desperately tried to save.

Shadows were what had robbed her from him, and to see his opponents, human men, as those damned monsters…well, he couldn't be sure that the people he boxed against would be left alive, if he let his anger dictate his motives.

He didn't want to deal with that anymore than he'd wanted to deal with it then. In the end, all he had hadn't been enough, and she'd died.

Was it because he hadn't been strong enough, hadn't trained hard enough to help her when she'd needed it the most? She'd been alone when time came to fight the final colossus, and he hated how he couldn't have been there to help her along.

Perhaps that was why she hadn't chosen him to comfort her in her dying hour.

* * *

She hadn't chosen one over the other to be spiteful or to prove a point, for in all honesty she was far too tired to think about such things. In the end, all she'd really wanted was some kind of peace of mind in knowing that everyone was safe, and Shinjiro had given that to her.

Junpei had Chidori, and if Akihiko wanted, he could get any girl he wanted. All he had to really do was make sure not to follow Junpei's terrible dating advice, and the girl of his choosing would be draped across his arm. With this knowledge in mind, she was secure in knowing that they'd be well taken care of after she had slipped on, and thus felt no remorse with her decision.

However, with Shnji, his tough and defensive act made it difficult for people to get close to him, or for him in turn to accept them. Because of this, he had no one to readily turn to should he feel the need to feel someone's warm embrace and say he loved if ever the need arose where he wanted things of that nature. So she'd allowed him to envelop her body with his warmth, even as the sun shone down her and her body grew cold.

In all honesty, Shinjiro probably didn't have long to live; he'd said so himself. He'd probably needed to hold her more than anyone else, to give himself some solace, even as her spirit passed on.

As she closed her bleary eyes, having focused on Shinjio's face for as long as she could muster, hearing him ramble on about how he loved her, and was so sorry he'd forgotten, she felt that everything would be alright without her; everyone would be fine now, as the crises had been averted.

And so she died, a soft 'thank you' parting from Shinjiro's lips as the bright lights of angels overcame her, whisking her away to a better place to watch her friends grow.


End file.
